


Here to impress

by nymphori



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Athletics, Ambiguous Relationships, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-07-27 15:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7624006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymphori/pseuds/nymphori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daichi has never been to nationals, Tetsurou has only heard the stories, Yui never dreamed she'd make it this far, Suguru has a new lucky charm. Tooru thinks it's his time to shine, Koutarou wants to beat Ushijima just this once, Wakatoshi only wants for his school to be the best. Kenji has to show that he deserves the honorary captain title, Yuuji thinks everyone takes this thing way too seriously.</p><p>They converge at the Japan National High School Championship to meet and compete and leave a lasting impression on the high school athletics circuit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here to impress

 

 

 

 

 

He starts out warming up with Bokuto. They live fairly close together, jogging around the track isn't a new experience, but jogging around this track together is.

Apart from the track they're circling, it doesn't feel that different to usual. It even features Daishou flitting around here and there. Tetsurou likes to pretend that Daishou doesn’t live within reasonable walking distance, and then likes to conveniently forget this fact as well when the grapevine gives him a convenient excuse to be in the area and question why this particular girl dumped him.

Daishou warms up separately to them. Conveniently just out of earshot of Tetsurou getting some of the smack talk out of the way early, but when they still to stretch, it's where he's already doing so. He and Bokuto drop towels and drink bottles down next to him, because there isn't a lot of choice in moving elsewhere. This time of the morning is the only time they have to all warm up on the track; before all of the events start and they have to move over to the damp, hidden, warm-up field.

Kuroo wouldn't be choosing to stretch next to Daishou if he had any choice in avoiding it.

Especially as—

“No way,” Bokuto says even though Tetsurou is pretty sure _he’s_ the one feeling the most slighted by this new development.

“I can’t believe you’re dating Mika again. I thought it was over when she realised she was too good for you.”

“Ha ha ha,” Daishou replies, beyond sarcastic. “Turns out that when she saw me competing at the prefectural tournament she found herself appreciating how much effort I put into the sport.” Bokuto mimes gagging where Daishou can’t see but Tetsurou doesn’t bother trying to keep a straight face. “She wanted me to teach her more about what I did and now she’s my number one cheerleader!” 

Tetsurou might actually die from hearing Daishou sound so _honest_  about what he's saying for what has to be the first time ever. And it’s with _those_ words. Daishou waves again and Tetsurou turns along with Bokuto to follow it’s direction over to where Mika is walking around the fence towards where the giant snake of the Nohebi banner is flying. When she sits down she turns her gaze towards Daishou, and they all watch her blow a kiss and in a moment Tetsurou wishes he didn’t have to witness he watches Daishou spring into the air to mime catching it.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” First, he has to watch Mika kiss him good luck as she came in and now this. It's too much.

Tetsurou can’t watch his _not really but kind of actually_ — _no matter how much he wants to kid himself_ — _friend_ do this to himself. “Please don’t do that again, just trust me this once, please don’t do that again. I’m saying this for your own sanity," and for a little bit of his own.

Daishou shrugs, looking totally unimpressed with Tetsurou’s sage life advice, relationship advice, advice in general. “She likes it,” he says, as if that’s all it takes to excuse his behaviour, “and I like her more than you.”

Tetsurou clutches a hand to his chest, a dramatic action that he's long since adopted as his own. “I can’t believe you just said that to my face!”

"If it makes you feel any better I say it not to your face as well."

"Now that's just downright mean," Tetsurou teases but Daishou doesn't rise to the challenge; just sits down, and pulls one knee tight against his chest. "Bokuto would never say something like that about me."

"He likes you a lot more than I do."

Tetsurou puts on a shocked expression, but it gets him nowhere. Daishou isn't looking at him, and Bokuto has his face to the ground as he stretches out his back. It's only when Bokuto turns his face to the side that he sees Tetsurou's own. "I don't know why you're making that face," he says, "half of Tokyo knows it's true."

Bokuto's words don't _exactly_ make Tetsurou feel better. Bokuto's not the one he wanted the reaction from, but the words are still nice to hear. He wishes he could spend half the day competing with Bokuto rather than needing to be with Daishou most of the day. Being with Daishou and unfortunately enough according to the programme, jumping on the pit closest to where Nohebi sits in the stands. It's just how he wants to spend his day: watching Daishou blow kisses to a girl that only a couple of weeks ago Tetsurou had been teasing him about for breaking up with him.

Tetsurou generally considers himself a nice person, but when it comes to Daishou sometimes he just slips. And he has nothing against Mika it's just that she's one of the few weaknesses he's has found. He has to attack it with all he has.

Daishou stands up and picks up his things and walks away. "See you at the pit later," he calls over his shoulder.

"Oooohhhh," Bokuto calls, "he wants to meet you at the pit!" 

Tetsurou laughs, he never even thought of it that way.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daichi sticks close to the people he knows. Most of his school have moved off to warm up either in small groups together, or with people they've come to know over the last year or more from other schools. This is Daichi's reason if he's asked, for why he sticks with the captains for the other teams — it has nothing at all to do with feeling out of his depth. Ushijima is a strong silent shadow on his right side, it's a complete contrast to the way Oikawa fumes on his other side over the mere presence of Ushijima. To say the least, Daichi doesn't understand the tension. As far as he's aware they don't even compete in the same events. The other two, younger captains, of teams that had travelled across with them  have fallen behind, grouping up with second years from other schools.

When he spots them all together, Daichi can't help but smile at what he's seeing: Miyagi's next generation of captains all warming up together. They'll be a tighter prefecture next year, Daichi is certain of it.

Still, it's not a big enough distraction from the two current captains he's currently with and the strange tension tension that he's stuck jogging between. He can't move, he can't leave them, He doesn't want to be responsible for whatever happens once the barrier that is his body is taken out from between them.

If only Michimiya was running with them, Daichi might have someone sane to go through this with. He doesn't fault her for choosing to warm up with some of the girls she knows, still, she would have been a more than welcome presence at his side. Another body to put up between Oikawa and Ushijima. Small, but perhaps enough for Oikawa to stop huffing loudly next to him, through no fault of the jogging they're doing, and while Ushijima has never appeared to Daichi as much of a talker, Michimiya has a way of befriending anyone she meets.

"Crow-san!" 

Be careful what you wish for, Daichi reminds himself. Wanting for someone else to share in his misery did not quite equate to running into Bokuto and Kuroo in his mind. They're more likely to add to his misery and stress of the morning - before even being called to marshalling - than reduce it. 

"Introduce us to your friends!" Kuroo seems cheerful enough, Bokuto's face takes on the same set jaw that Oikawa has been wearing all morning as soon as Ushijima comes into view. At least, this time, Daichi can partially understand. At the very least, Bokuto and Ushijima compete in all of the same events.

Daichi spends one lap talking to Kuroo and trying to use the noise to drown out the silence that spreads on either side of him, but after one lap Kuroo and Bokuto head back into the stands and Daichi is left alone to deal with Oikawa and Ushijima once more.

It only ends when he and Ushijima stop to stretch and Oikawa continues towards the finish line, where he joins up with a different group of people to stretch. Ushijima is much more likeable on his own. They pull against each other to stretch, talk a little, and Daichi thinks that he might never have seen Ushijima smile before, but now he has and it's nice and he wouldn't mind seeing it again.

It is this which has him hoping that Bokuto doesn't hold quite as much of a grudge for Ushijima as Oikawa does. If he has to spend all day in the same tense silence as only moments before he might scream. If they can get along, at least a little, Daichi's wellbeing will be so much better for it.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Tooru likes running in the first event, although mostly he likes that it's the longest event.

He likes moving straight from the warm up, from smiles and playful jabs and scouting out the competition from the corners of his eyes— seeing who it is that is here this year, this time— and being able to get straight into business.

For the first event of the day, he doesn't have to deal with any unnecessary tension. He doesn't have to wait for the track to clear, he doesn't have to wait for any equipment to be set up or taken away. All he has to do is move straight from warming up, everyone together because here they represent not just their school but they're trying to show that Miyagi itself is a competitive prefecture. Some friendships forming fast from where there was once only animosity.

Tooru likes it.

He doesn't really get excited for the day ahead until he's toeing the line, surrounded by others like him.

Tooru likes the burst of the gun and he likes getting to be one of the first to take to the track for real.

Tooru likes hearing the first cheers of the day directed at him. It fuels his legs and it's addicting. It's one of the reasons he keeps this event in his arsenal when he doesn't really need it, when he's been told he should drop it. Other people telling him that it's a waste to exert himself so much before his primary events, but Tooru doesn't have the words to describe to them the cool atmosphere that fills his lungs as he races his first lap and _the_ first lap of the day. The energy is still, quiet, until it builds up. Later in the day it fills the air in bursts and pulses— but here, they get to believe they're the ones who set the pace for how the day is going to proceed.

Tooru likes the attention. He likes the feeling of running in front of a full stadium — which only happens at the beginning of the day, before everyone trickles out as they finish up. Banners and people and colours fill the space and as he rounds the bend he counts his steps against his watch and looks for the teal and white of his school on the corner. He's the captain, he didn't help set up, more perks of being first on the track, but instinctively he knows where to look.

And once he finds them, the only thing he does is run.

He passes the finish line, perfectly keeping pace with the middle of the group. He doesn't have room to breathe on his own, he syncs with the people around him. He listens to calculated breaths and the almost rhythmic fall of feet and only one lap into the race Tooru can judge who isn't prepared.

Another reason he keeps this on his event applications: Tooru likes that his favourite event is not his first.

The bend, only three laps in, and people are already looking to separate themselves from the pack. It's desperation, peaking early.

It's also days and months and years working towards this one thing, and then not having time to prepare themselves on the actual day.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Shit! Did you see that?" Suguru asks. 

"It's too early in the morning for your games," is Kuroo's reply but Suguru isn't even thinking about games. He isn't thinking about anything. He's just watching the race on the track - the fall looked messy. Messy, and now the people who were trying to separate themselves from the pack have done the opposite. Red and green and black jerseys sprawl across the track and everyone who was behind them, everyone not desperate enough to want to separate before they're even half-way through the race gets to run past them.

Suguru isn't thinking about games, not his own, not when he's jumping next. He's already been distracted enough from the task at hand by the guys on the ground, two of them yet to stand up, who have just lost their own game.

The last runner, metres behind the back of the pack, passes by them.

And they only start to move once the pack, the smart ones, the calculating ones, the ones with strategies that now have a better chance of working, run over the line once more.

They move, but only the one dressed in black stands. He reaches a hand down and pulls the guy dressed in green to his feet. They both step to the outside lane and walk, arms locked over shoulders, towards the end of their race.

Suguru can't stop the laugh that bubbles from his mouth at his next thought. "They wanted to finish first, and now they get to!"

He can feel Kuroo's glare on the side of his face, but it's not worth looking at. He already knows exactly what it's going to look like. "It's not funny," Kuroo says, "they're injured."

Either way, and despite what Kuroo thinks of him, Suguru does _actually_ feel bad for the both of them.

Nobody wants to bow out early and that's especially true here.

Nobody wants for the cheers and shouts ringing down from the stands as they near the lines to be full of pity. 

He pushes the thoughts away as he hears his name called up to jump.

"Good luck," Kuroo says and Suguru ignores him.

"You can do it Suguru!" This cheer gets a smile out of him and a wave. He _can_ do it. His practice runs went well. The wind is low. The day is warm.

—And Mika is watching. Mika is watching at the fence, close enough to see and hear, and after he jumps, touch.

He stands next to his marker and sends one last look to her. She beams back a giant smile and it stays in his vision even as he turns to stare down the pit in front of him. Suguru hops into his run up, counts out the steps in his head, he pushes down with everything he has, _two steps_ , and springs into his jump. 

It feels good when he lands.

He stands up, dusting the sand down from the back of his shorts and where it's buried itself into the folds of his singlet. He steps to the side as the measuring tape digs into his mark. It looks good as well, _far_ , more than far enough.

" _Seven metres, ninety-seven._ "

Suguru takes in the lull of silence that lies in the wake of the words and thinks that Mika needs to come to his events all the time because she is clearly his good luck charm. He takes in the murmurs as they make their way out from under the tent, and walks around the back of the pit to walk up the small incline towards where Mika stands, watching.

"Was it good?" Smiling, happy, no idea of just how great a thing he's just done.

"It was good, thank you for coming." And helping him set a new personal best.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tooru doesn't push ahead with the rest. He isn't aiming to be first in this event. It isn't his goal. His friends think he's an idiot for even racing this event but Tooru is far from actually being one.

Five people push ahead, as soon as they cross the line and the board reads off the number two, they do so with more success than earlier in the race, in which they actually get ahead. There's a gap now. The leading group and the pack. Tooru is not a leader, he runs with the pack.

He doesn't need to be first, or second, he doesn't even need to be fifth. He will be more than happy enough with a top ten finish. That's his goal. Top ten. He doesn't even need a personal best. Not here, not now. This is only practice. His breathing, his pace, the feel of the track for the day. To get a read on how he himself is feeling today.

Two more people race ahead of him down the back straight, Tooru waits for the bend, holds his right hand up to his left wrist and as he passes over the two hundred metre line he presses down on the lap timer and it is only now, that he takes off after everyone else.

_After the finish line_.

He can feel people grouping up with him, but that's fine. It's fine. There are seven people ahead of him, one and a half laps to go, and Tooru is only racing himself here.

With this pace, with this timing, how quickly can he make his last six hundred metres?

He runs to cheering down the straight as the first group of people run through the bell, the next two runners, one person pushes up in front of Tooru and he runs through the bell in ninth place now.

_Ninth_.

Tooru doesn't need a good time, he doesn't need to place, but one thing he absolutely refuses to do is finish anywhere outside of the top ten. _So_ , his last lap is not going to go according to plan at all. 

He speeds up around the bend, he doesn't let whoever it is that is pushing on the inside through. Tooru hugs the inside of the lane as much as he possibly can, avoiding the camera rail, avoiding tripping, and when he gets to the back straight he stretches out his strides. 

He moves faster. He can see the group of people ahead of him and he can feel people behind him but for the moment they aren't offering up any further problems. By the end of the stretch, they have fallen behind. He's on his own and he is able to make some ground on those who pushed ahead earlier.

He hits the two hundred metre mark, and ahead of him, Tooru can see the small group ahead of him push into their last burst. Already, Tooru knows who the battle for first is going to be between. He can also see, if he pushes on as well, if he says a final goodbye to what was meant to be his plan, he might even make the top five.

_Maybe._

There're a few hours before his next race.

It's worth a try.

He doesn't reach what is left of his full speed until there are one hundred and fifty metres to go and seven people ahead of him.

One hundred metres to go and Tooru finds himself at the tail end of the group. He runs out into the middle lanes and pushes on. _Harder, faster_. He makes it past one person, _another_.

Seventy metres, _sixty_.

The change to the plan hits him hard, in his breath, in his legs, in the unwelcome swing of his chest as he pushes and pushes and pushes his way closer to the line.

If he can do this— If he can recover from this— It might be time to work this race into a new plan.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Koutarou finds himself jumping up and down at the gate bordering the field despite nobody he really knows being in the race. Nobody from Fukurodani is racing, nobody from Nekoma is racing. There are a few faces he knows, but not actual people. Still, Koutarou found himself interested in the race as soon as the sight of one of the people he did actually kind of know had been carried off the track and around to the medical tent.

He hopes Takei will be able to run in his later events of the day, if he has any, Koutarou isn't actually too sure... 

Whatever the case, nobody deserves to get injured in their first event of the day in their last tournament. 

All of Koutarou's events aren't until _way_ later in the day, and although the crash seemed almost unavoidable and the resulting injury by no means Takei fault— Koutarou is going to make sure that he's well aware of how he wants to compete and ensure that his own body is more than warm up enough and more than ready enough for his events. He doesn't want the same to happen to him. No injuries, no matter how they're obtained.

And so jumping up and down at the fence helps to keep his body from cooling down too much, and it also helps to exert some of the energy that the race on the track is putting into him.

One person he does know, _but also doesn't really_ , is racing. And he's fun to watch.

Oikawa didn't look like he was even in the race completely for the first few laps, but somewhere along the way he's picked up his head and Koutarou is a fan of the way he pushes ahead and ahead and ahead. No longer content just to lead the main pack, no longer content to settle for simply finishing.

Koutarou jumps and screams and cheers for Oikawa's last spurt of energy, his race for the finish line. His own voice is lost in the roar of other voices, cheering on the other runners, cheering on other events, cheering just to cheer... but he does so anyway. Oikawa will have at least one supporter who isn't cheering for him purely based on school loyalty.

"I didn't know you knew Oikawa," the voice is close to his ears and it's the spray of breath across his cheek that has Koutarou jumping away from Ushijima as he loudly whispers into his ear.

Koutarou frowns at him for a moment before turning to cheer louder for Oikawa, around the final bend, down into the straight.

"Of course I do!" Koutarou says after a few more shouts of Oikawa's name. "We're best friends."

"I was not aware," Ushijima says.

"You wouldn't be," Koutarou can't turn to see how Ushijima is taking the news, not when Oikawa is so close to finishing, not in first, but maybe, if he's lucky, he'll get a place, "but we're friends because of you."

Koutarou shouts out Oikawa's name a few more times, although it's likely drowned in the squeals of the girls who are mobbing the fence closer to the finish line. They say the same name, louder, with shriller voices. Grating on the ears but doing the job nevertheless.

"After all, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and well, when the enemy is as big as you the resulting friendship is going to be bigger too!" Koutarou claps Ushijima on the back and races down to push through the crowd of girls.

"That was awesome!" He waves his arms over the heads of the girls, hoping to catch Oikawa's attention.

When it's caught, Oikawa sends a smile and a nod his way, and it's more than enough to have the girls screaming out even louder.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Urgh," Tetsurou gags, "I can't believe I have to look at that."

"There's no need to get jealous Kuroo, one day someone will be able to put up with you."

"Obviously," Tetsurou sneers, "I'm a delight compared to you and you seem to have managed. Tetsurou changes his focus from the crowd that remains screaming for the boys even as the girls race and back on the guys running down the strip of track in front of him. There are far fewer people lining the fence to cheer them on, and _nobody_ from Nekoma is standing up to cheer for their captain. The small puddle of red and black in the maze of every other school is still, the few people there talking amongst each other and not even seeming to notice that Tetsurou is down here, about to jump for what might be the last time.

Shows how much they care.

Tetsurou clenches his jaw and has to actively coax himself into relaxing. "Happy thoughts," he says to himself, "light thoughts, long thoughts."

One more person races down towards the pit for their third attempt and leaps into the air. Tetsurou listens out as the distance is called out, " _seven metres fifty-seven._ "

Not good enough.

"Fast thoughts, long thoughts," and hopefully nothing that induces longer faster strides that put him over the plasticine.

Tetsurou stands up and shrugs off his t-shirt to line up behind the next jumper. " _Kitara, followed by Kuroo._ "

Tetsurou watches Kimura jump from directly behind. Tetsurou watches the way he rocks into his start, his rise, the dip before his approach and the way he floats through the air and the way he lands in the pit. His form is compact, " _seven metres eighty-four_ ," but apparently, it works for him. It's enough. 

There're a few moments for the distance and wind to be recorded. Another few seconds while the pit is raked and cleared. Tetsurou takes a deep breath. _A few_. He's confident that his previous jumps are enough to let him jump three more times — " _Kuroo, followed by Shimo_ " — but he'd like to get further and cement his place in the final round of jumps.

Cheering erupts in the stands. The girls must be finishing up their race, Tetsurou wants to know how it's going. There's only one way to find out because his name has already been called.

Tetsurou takes one more deep breath for good luck and springs into action. His right foot digs into the track next to his marker, his spikes grip into the tartan and he pushes himself forward. The wind is with him, he can pretend the cheers are for him too. At least one person in the stands has to be watching him, he can't fail if someone is watching him.

He can't fail when Daishou is definitely going to get to jump in the final rounds.

He feels light as he presses down on the board with his left foot. He swings both of his arms forward, up, pushes his legs out, tucks himself into his body and holds himself together as much as he can until he spins into the sand.

_Please_ , he thinks, _just be far enough_.

All he needs to do is be far enough to get through. It's a terrible way to think, but he definitely needs to figure out something else with his approach if he's going to keep up with Daishou today.

Daishou, who doesn't look happy as the distance is read out. _Excellent_. 

Three more jumps it is. Three more jumps in which to wipe the permanent smirk off his smug little face and have something decent to shut him up with in the future.

It's about all the motivation he needs really.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

The bar starts at four metres, and Kenji is left to wonder why anyone even bothers requesting this height to start. If they need to start so low just to ensure they get a measurement in, are they really expecting to get somewhere with the tournament, or are they just happy enough that they made it here?

Terushima, of course, stands up with his pole in hand, and Kenji watches him the entire time as he lines up his hands on the pole, runs up and pushes himself way further into the air than is really necessary for the pathetic height of the bar. Kenji stops watching once Terushima is airborne, as soon as his hands leave and the pole falls safely to the side. He knows what happens next and it's much more interesting for Kenji to watch other people watch Terushima than to watch after Terushima himself. 

Well, it's more interesting to do such a thing now that he's got all of the watching Terushima _himself_ out of the way.

Kenji laughs out loud at the look on some of the faces around him. Looks of horror mostly, some awe, and in between there are a few people that look like they have a few choice words to say to Terushima. Kenji laughs harder at the thought of hearing them spoken but not everyone has a death wish.

"Good jump," Kenji calls out as Terushima jumps down from the pit to pick up his pole and return to the bench where Kenji sits. "If you really consider that a jump," Kenji smirks and trades off a high five and a drink bottle as Terushima squeezes in next to him. The other guys sitting on the bench all shuffle along to accommodate him in the gap that is really too small.

"It's a jump!"

Kenji laughs again, and presses his own drink bottle down against Terushima's legs to stop them from bouncing around so much. While Kenji enjoys the way it has everyone glaring at them, momentarily taking their mind off the competition, he would really prefer sitting still up until the bar is high enough for him to bother with.

The _one_ other jumper starting off at four fouls off all three attempts. Whether it was a safety attempt or a real attempt, it no longer matters to Kenji. Either way, the competition is now one person down.

And the bar gets raised five centimetres.

_A whole five centimetres_.

Kenji sighs, it's going to be a long day.

Terushima doesn't move. "Are you not going to go off here too?" Two other guys stand up to take their first attempts and Kenji wonders why they pick four zero five over the flat four metres. Does it actually make them feel better? Do the extra five centimetres bolster them with confidence?

"Nah," Terushima says, resting back on the palms of his hands and bumping into the knees of the guy sitting behind him. "I'll wait for three and then go again. There's no point wasting energy but I _hate_ sitting around and waiting for everything to move just as much."

Kenji has never asked for why Terushima jumps so many more times than he needs to, but having the answer given to him without asking is nice. It also makes sense. Terushima actually does something to curb the boredom and anticipation of waiting for the raise of the bar. All Kenji spends the same time doing is analysing how they jump; it does a good enough job of narrowing down who the competition really is but it also leaves his mind open to criticising most of the people for being here.

This isn't the regular school competition, this isn't the prefectural competition. Kenji came here to win and he doesn't understand why the guys who start at such low heights bother coming. It's expensive, and it's useless if they think they can actually win when they're starting so far below where most of them sign up to start.

And if they really are going up by five the entire time Kenji has a lot of time in which to hate them all.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

"One, two, three," Wakatoshi counts under his breath.

_Bang!_

"You were so close!" Bokuto shouts, causing Wakatoshi to jump, "almost perfect!"

Wakatoshi disagrees, he thinks he was actually perfect, especially so given he hadn't even noticed Bokuto climbing up the stands towards him he was concentrating so hard. But, if Bokuto is going to think otherwise then really, it's to Wakatoshi's benefit later in the day. "Shouldn't you be with your own school?"

Bokuto sighs, long and loud and Wakatoshi wonders exactly _how_ Bokuto managed to sneak up on him given his usually loud presence. "They're all competing!" It's easy enough for Wakatoshi to spot the black and gold lining up on the track for one of the next heats on the track, but he doesn't see anyone else sporting the same colours further around the field. "They left me!"

Wakatoshi doesn't know where else Bokuto's teammates could be. The sea of Fukurodani students in the stands rivals his own school's where they currently stand, it would be simple enough for Bokuto's senior teammates to be hiding amongst them. There's no reason for Bokuto to intrude upon his judging of the gun other than the quiet - his friends not bound by school uniforms are all competing.

Wakatoshi has his eyes only on the track, but elsewhere he knows that some of the people he knows from other schools are competing.

One, there is one person he'd like to judge for the way they're throwing today but the nets are too far away for him to properly see.

It's easier to ignore it all now and think only about how long the starter has been holding the gun for. Any advantage is an advantage when it comes down to his own race. Wakatoshi has a larger build than most of his race competitors, but there are still occasions where people won't let him bully them out of the lead. Bokuto is a good example of such a thing. Bokuto who pushes back rather than giving Wakatoshi the space he needs.

It'll be interesting to note in his own race whether the crash in the first event will change how people attack the lead.

"One, two—"

_ Bang! _

"— fuck, I was way off!"

Wakatoshi is too distracted by Bokuto's presence to count anymore. He just sits and watches the race go by. Three hurdles fall and one person nearly falls as an ankle gets caught up in one of the contraptions.

Bokuto gets even more restless next to him. He bounces on the balls of his feet, totally ignorant to the people sitting in the row behind them who ask for him to sit. Wakatoshi doesn't even have the energy to care. Three years of knowing Bokuto and one year of them actually talking the two previous times they met at nationals is enough for him to know when a battle is lost.

"He can do it! Hey, hey! You should cheer with me!"

"He's not from my team," and Wakatoshi hadn't even cheered on the members of his own school in the earlier heats, "why should I?"

"So he knows we're watching!"

A giant roar erupts from the stands where Bokuto's school sits as the runners practice over the first flight of hurdles. Bokuto's friend is much more likely to know that his school as a whole is cheering him on rather than just Bokuto. It's too late for Wakatoshi to say this to him, though. The gun is already in the air and already the lineup is settling into their blocks.

"One, two, three—"

_ Bang! _

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

"What are you even starting at?" Yuuji asks, sitting down to a held out drink bottle and a growing space around him.

"Four-eighty," Yuuji watches Futakuchi's shoulders drop with resignation and laughs.

"Wow, that's torture!" 

"A long and painful torture, yes."

Yuuji laughs even harder. There are four other guys he's never seen before waiting to jump along with Futakuchi, he pities all of them. "You should get a jump in now then! If you start now you'll only have to jump twice before four-eighty."

Futakuchi shrugs and Yuuji bites down his smile against the lip of his drink bottle. "Maybe, but that defeats the purpose of the power play."

"I knew you were getting off on this!"

"Ew!" Yuuji only laughs harder as Futakuchi elbows him, but the words also have the effect of the other guys shifting yet further away from them on the bench. Yuuji stretches out fully across the extra space: legs up on the seats in front, head pressing uncomfortably on the seats behind him. It's perfect. Already the competitors have been cut down in half but Yuuji is looking forward to when these other guys jump. Futakuchi, he's seen in action before, and he thinks he's seen two of the other guys around, the final two are a mystery waiting to be solved.

It's exciting. Invigorating.

He taps his feet against the chair in front of him, only pushing harder to do so when Futakuchi holds his legs down.

"You're so frustrating."

"This is _my_ power play!" Yuuji teases with a wink. Immediately, Futakuchi removes his hand and the other eight guys scrambling to share the edges of the bench relocate to the floor. It's a shame, nobody here is adventurous, nobody here is fun. Futakuchi spreads his knees and sinks further into comfort and Yuuji takes that back, one person is fun, just in a different way to himself.

The bar raises up once, again, once more.

Yuuji jumps to his feet, pulls out his pole and stands on deck ready to jump. He waits for the inspection, for the final measurements to be read off the bar. Then he stands at his mark weighing the pole in his hand before resting it on his shoulder and waiting for the call. " _The bar is now set at four metres, sixty-five centimetres. Terushima, first attempt, followed by Sawano_."

Yuuji waits for a heartbeat before rearranging his hands along the pole. Another heartbeat and his eyes lock on the bar. Another heartbeat and the approach is narrowed down to a number.

With a deep breath, Yuuji lifts the pole into the air and launches into his run, knees high, strides long, until he pushes the pole down into the box and himself up into the air. His legs swing up first, he folds in half and pushes further up, off the pole. He pushes it away and contorts himself over the bar hanging in the air.

It's an easy clearance. He doesn't think for a second that he's in danger of knocking it.

He keeps his momentum going and tumbles once in the air before hitting the mat and immediately bouncing to his feet.

Futakuchi isn't watching, he never does, but nobody else has taken their eyes off of him.

_Good_.

They all take it way too seriously, it'll be good for them if they learn to add some fun into their life. If they can do that, next year will be a lot more fun.

Futakuchi hands him his drink bottle and slaps at his hand as Yuuji sits down at the empty bench again. "You're such a show-off."

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daichi taps his foot against the floor as the final round of throws starts. This is it— this is it and this is probably it for him. There's no point beating around the bush when there's nobody around he needs to act confident in front of. Daichi knew this was coming, it only seemed fair, but still, _it stings_.

His hand's sting, his eyes burn, his heart sinks into his stomach.

Daichi wants this to be over just as much as he wants a miracle to happen with his third throw.

A miracle isn't in his cards for today. The miracle was getting here. The miracle was so many of them getting here. When this is over, when Daichi has had his own time to lament his abilities he'll have to catch up on how the others found their days... how they went. He'll be happy enough to know that in the future his team will be confident enough to get themselves here. He's leaving them in good hands and—

" _Kimura, followed by Sawamura._ "

Daichi jolts to a start and watches Kimura pick up the hammer from the car and drag it by the handle around the net and into the ring. It's disheartening as well, to throw directly after the guy who's the favourite to win. He's already thrown ten metres further than Daichi and it's not an easy act to follow at all.

Not like the guys throwing after who have Daichi to compare themselves to.

Daichi doesn't watch his third throw. He conveniently brushes the sweat away from his forehead with his towel and only finishes up as he hears the thud of the hammer falling back to earth. His self-control is not great enough to stop himself from looking out at where it falls.

So close to the tape. So close to the tape that Daichi can never get close to.

A too heavy sigh escapes as he pushes himself to stand. The distance is read out as Daichi walks up to wait next to the net and it's impossible not to hear it. It's impossible to miss the way Kimura punches his fist into his thigh — so close; he'll have three more throws in which to make it. Of that, there is no doubt.

" _Sawamura, followed by Inubashi._ "

The whir of the car stops at his feet and Daichi picks up the hammer from its open trunk. He takes sure steps around the net and towards the circle. If this is his last throw, hopefully he can make it a good one. The sound of the dragging weight changes as it moves from the grass, over the iron and across the concrete. Daichi sits the handle solidly across his palm and checks that the landing area behind him is clear for him to throw.

One deep breath, two wind ups, three steps in each of four swings around and on the fifth count Daichi swings his arms up into the air to release the weight from his palm.

His spin continues on one foot and he balances himself on it before he sets the other one back down inside the circle.

A soft thud sounds on top of the white tape, and Daichi is happy with this, this is one of his best. It's not enough to move him forward but it's enough to have him content— _more than content_ — it's enough to have him happy with the way he's thrown in this event.

It's over now, Daichi can focus on his other events.

This is done.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Do you think any of them are going to fall?"

"What the fuck?" Kuroo says, "seriously, what is your damage?"

Suguru shrugs, "it happens all the time."

"Does it really?" Suguru loves Mika's innocence, the way she sounds so upset for these people on the track that she doesn't even know. "But they've all practiced so hard to be here."

"Every event has something that can go wrong, and being a hurdler is just asking for something to go wrong when it really counts."

"Not true at all," Kuroo says, "you're just projecting your bad luck onto other people."

"I don't have bad luck today Kuroo," Suguru pulls Mika into his side, and she goes one step further, shuffling in front of him and tucking herself under his chin. Suguru nuzzles his chin into her hair, smooths it back down, then turns to face Kuroo with a grin, "I brought my favourite good luck charm today!" 

“I hate you,” Kuroo says.

“That’s a funny way to say you’re jealous and lonely but—“

“No seriously, I just want to watch the race.”

Suguru allows the silence, settles into it and lets his eyes move back to the track. He knows as well as anyone close to Kuroo does that he has his eyes on one of the racers. He’s not mean enough to actually keep Kuroo from watching the race.

“So are we cheering for the guy in lane five?” Mika asks, “that’s the one you’re cheering for, right Kuroo-kun?”

Kuroo’s face burns bright enough to have even Bokuto turn his face away from the track to wonder what the people at his side are talking about. “Of course we’re cheering! You don’t have to be embarrassed about it Kuroo, he wants us to!”

“Heeeeeey!” Bokuto yells out, loud, too loud to be standing near him. The entire section of the stands around them turn to look, but out on the track Suguru just watches the guy whose attention Bokuto is trying to get turn further away from the stands. The guy in the lane next to him laughs and Suguru finds himself laughing into Mika’s hair as well. _Twice as hard_ because Kuroo ducks to sink into his seat and it's a sight to remember

“There’s no need to be embarrassed Kuroo, isn’t he your friend?”

“No, we’re not friends, he hates me,” Kuroo pauses as Bokuto lets out a loud gasp at the words, “I don’t know why you’re acting like that he definitely hates you too after that.”

“I’m just trying to be supportive!” 

“You can do that quietly, like just clap when he wins.”

“Is he going to win?” Mika asks.

“Probably,” Suguru says, “also feel free to cheer for me loud because Kuroo hates it.”

“Don’t cheer for him, cheer for me!” 

“So you admit you want someone to cheer for you?” Suguru sneers. Kuroo opens his mouth to reply, but no words are forthcoming. Suguru laughs and pulls his arms tighter around Mika’s shoulders. “Mika’s _my_ cheer squad though, you’ll have to find someone else, Bokuto could be yours, then you’ll feel like you have a whole cheer team!”

“I’ll cheer for you!” Suguru doesn’t even think Bokuto has been paying attention, only tuning in and out whenever his brain picks out something of interest. “But the race is going to start so quiet in the stands please.”

“Bokuto, you’re the loudest person—“

“Shh—“

“ _Set._ ”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

She has to wait for them to clear the track, and this waiting is some of the hardest. 

Marshalling was fine, Yui could pretend she was elsewhere— waiting for some different race, at some different competition. But standing at the head of the track and in front of the pulsing stadium full of people there’s no placing herself anywhere else. 

And people always think the final is the more important race, but Yui always finds heats to be the worst. _If she doesn’t make the final, then the final doesn’t matter_. So does she put her all into this race and hope she makes it — a bigger accomplishment than she’s ever made so far — or does she try and race to make the final so she can give her all there? It’s a dilemma. A big one. She’s been training so hard these last few months, and the difference that focusing on herself rather than the team has given her is obvious in her improved times, but is it finals material?

Standing and waiting here is the worst. It's a warm day. The last cool breath of morning still hangs in the wind brushing past, and Yui shivers without knowing if it's the breeze or the anticipation as finally, the last of the hurdles are removed from the track.

She's not even in the first heat. She thinks she would have preferred being in the first heat. The first heat has no expectations. The first heat has a gun and a rush of breath and Yui panics as she watches the girls ahead of her move. Fast. _Impossibly fast_. So much faster than she could ever be, than she could ever dream to be.

The stadium is loud as they scream along, there are so many people watching, so many people for her to look foolish in front of. People she knows and people she doesn't. People who she will have to be strong for when she inevitably fails.

At least the other girls aren't here.

She came here alone. The only girl from Karasuno to make it this far. To try this hard. The fun and games are over and now it's time to prove, after so many years of being not quite good enough, that she is. That she can be.

Yui brings her hands up to slap at her cheeks. The sting left behind grounds her, it’s something to focus on as finally, her heat moves up to the line. She bounces against the track as the sting gives way to adrenaline in the moments where she prepares for the race.

" _Take your marks!_ ” Her breathing comes faster, harder. Her heart races, already a few seconds ahead of her. She bounces a couple more times behind the blocks before leaning forward over them. She stretches out her left leg behind her, once, twice, and then into position. The same follows with her right leg. She sits up into the blocks. The finish line is right in front of her. One hundred metres, it’ll be over before she knows it.

She places her fingers gently behind the white line and her head follows down to focus.

“ _Set!_ ”

She takes a deep breath in, everything she’ll need for the race, and pushes her hips towards the sky.

She’s going to give this her everything.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everyone on the line is a person that he needs to beat. It’s a big final, there are more people than last year and Tooru is surprised the event actually went straight to final with this many people. The bright side of it all is that it makes things easier than running against the clock. Running against people is easier.

Tooru bounces in place against the dotted line and doesn’t apologise when his elbows bump up against the people stood to either side.

Some people are talking, outside his bubble of awareness, Tooru can hear the distant hum of the crowd, the roar of the wind, the click of equipment as the gun is readied for the start.

It’s taken fully in hand, and he stops bouncing, and stands tall amongst everyone else, waiting and ready for the race to begin.

“ _Take your marks!_ ”

Tooru takes quick strides up to the starting line, toes just behind it, body leaning forward over it and—

“ _Step back!_ ”

He lets out his breath and walks slowly back to the line. He keeps his mind in check, he can't leave the zone now, they haven't even started yet.

“Elbows down boys.” One of the officials says.

_Ah_ , Tooru’s grateful for his race position because if elbows had come out to his arms he’s one to retaliate. At least today, he’s been left free of the mess.

“ _Take your marks!_ ”

At the second utterance of the words everyone moves towards the line, slower this time, they're too busy being careful. They’ve already been warned once and nobody wants individual flags to be raised. All this means for Tooru is that he gets his chest out in front of the guy sharing his starting lane—

_ Bang! _

—And he can push out to the front of the pack. It’s a fast start. He races to keep in front of the pack for the entire back straight, and it’s only as they pull around the first bend that they slow down. Tooru matches pace to the group even as he keeps himself at the head of it. His eyes are everywhere: the track, his watch, his feet, the guy matching him on his outside. He takes everything in without breaking from his form.

Three laps to go, fifty-eight seconds on the clock, the pace is slow.

He slows it even further.

Two laps to go, two minutes and eight seconds, shoulder to shoulder.

One lap to go, the bell rings out and the clock tells him he has still managed to keep the pace at over one minute per lap. People are really taking the no elbows thing seriously - a small blessing before the race started. He hears the swearing and the grunting around the corners of the last lap to indicate their arrival. Elbows and ankles of too many people. There’ll be more to come. Tooru is glad to be out in front.

He just needs to stay in front. No more shoulders, no more pacing, no letting anyone past.

The pace picks up around the corner.

He can feel the energy going down the back straight. He can sense people pushing, positions changing, the lanes are irrelevant now. Moving through the middle lanes becomes an option.

Swearing and stuttered steps. Two people come up from his right to run in front of him. 

He’s boxed in. _Fuck_.

Tooru picks it up again, stuttering one lane out for the final bend, the finish line straight ahead. He pushes between shoulders, he takes elbows to his arms, his chest; he might deliver some blows in return but nobody will ever hear it from him.

The stadium roars, shadows line up in his periphery. Tooru pushes on towards the line, towards the end, towards the race he really wants.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

_ Yui does not belong here. _

The girls look so much stronger than her. Toned muscle shows in the space between uniforms and the bulk she's always been self-conscious of doesn’t even compare.

They all know each other. They talk and they joke and they seem relaxed, calm almost. Yui doesn’t know if she even knows what calm is anymore. Calm is everyone around her and to keep the world in balance all of the stress, the nerves, have been left to her to handle. It’s too much. _It’s all too much_.

The crowd, the stadium, this track, these girls. It’s too much, it’s more than she expected, it’s not what she expected.

She hoped and she dreamed but she never actually expected anything of it.

Hard work, dead legs— _sturdy legs_ , giving up her weekends, her free time, her grades…

She doesn’t belong here.

Yui looks away from the race and the track in front of her and focuses on the nets closer to the opposite corner. She focuses away from herself, she focuses on the boys already on the track and waiting to have their own turn at success. She fingers the raised lines sewn into the side of her top. Maybe this is all its fault.

The charm worked but Yui never thought to think of what it would mean for it to work.

She should have got one to match the one she’d been given. Something to soothe her stress as well as this one meant to bring her luck.

The boys race is first, and Yui watches down her lane at the guy racing in front of her. Where is he placing? What is the luck of this lane? Does it matter? Will it help?

_ Does it matter? _

_ It doesn’t matter. _

Yui takes a breath and looks to her side, at her own race. They’re all the same as her. They are dark from practicing under the sun, they are tall and strong, they are so much more so than her, but they are here all the same, the same as her. They’re all the same. They’re all in this race, and Yui is in this race, and it means something that she got here.

On her own, again, always alone, but this time she’s made it to the top eight. Nothing else really matters.

Not the faces of the girls she knows are better, the ones she raced against at home to make it. Not the faces of the girls she’s never seen, never known.

No matter where she places, or how she runs, in this race, Yui will finish in the top eight of the country. _One of the fastest_. It’s better than she could have ever hoped for back when she first stumbled upon the event on television and wanted to be one of them. Fast and strong and someone to inspire little girls behind her to do the same. To follow and know that they can be the fastest too.

The microphone stutters and Yui turns back to the track. The blocks at the start, the clock behind the finish line.

Reset to zero.

“ _Take your marks!_ ”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You can do it Suguru!”

Tetsurou sighs, to the apparent enjoyment of half the guys standing around waiting to run. “Is she going to be doing that the entire time?”

Daishou doesn’t even bother turning around to answer him. “I told her it would help me win.”

“Did you really?”

“No,” Suguru runs down the track and through the board, all the way to the end of the pit. He skips his steps as he walks back around the edge, a wave to his girlfriend, a serious nod to the guy holding up his hands, a small gap between them, he walks back towards Tetsurou and moves his marker an almost insignificant few millimetres forward, “I told her that it would piss people off and that in turn, that would help me.”

“I hate you,” Tetsurou says evenly.

“You don’t!” Daishou responds with far too much confidence for Tetsurou to bother denying it.

“I don’t get it,” Tetsurou changes the subject, shaking his head in the direction of the fence lined up with people watching them, “she seems so nice.”

“It’s your turn.”

“Oh, sorry,” Tetsurou says to the guy behind him. He turns to face the pit, but getting caught in an argument with Daishou doesn’t particularly put him in the mood to jump.

“You can do it Suguru!” _That_ , that especially doesn’t help. A quick look to the side shows Tetsurou the girl in the flowing dress and the smile that he once thought was angelic, but clearly, it’s something else completely, clearly she’s cut from the same stone as Daishou. No wonder they're together again, it pisses him off.

He runs down the track quickly, he hears the wood of the board fall beneath his foot and he pulls up halfway into the sand.

Yaku stands at the fence for him. No girlfriend, no coach, even their advisor has his eyes elsewhere. Yaku stands at the fence with his hands held up with a hands space in between.

“Fuck,” he thought that run had actually felt good. It probably was, it’s probably Daishou’s fault.

Tetsurou moves his marker a hand's space forward anyway as the other guys run through. 

Daishou runs through again before joining the few guys who are also now able to sit at the side, content with their run-ups. Tetsurou is not so content. He runs through once, twice, three times more. He’s still not happy, but he’s one of only a few taking the time to run it through to gross perfection and he doesn’t want to be still trying when they’re asked to clear the run-up.

He avoids sitting next to Daishou, who regales everyone around him with the tale of how he picked up his beautiful girlfriend, by sitting down next to brown-haired and grumpy. “Yo!” Brown-haired and grumpy doesn’t respond, but he does sigh every time Daishou’s voice is heard above the rest of the conversations flowing around them, and that’s enough for Tetsurou.

Daishou becomes easy enough to ignore when Tetsurou tries. As much as he wants to butt into his grossly exaggerated stories with the few pieces of truth he has up his sleeve, he doesn’t. He sits back, content in the knowledge he has, and content to be next to someone who seems equally as fed up at the gossip coming from the other side of the bench.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

He’s pleasantly surprised to still be in the competition. Daichi doesn’t mind that he’s first to throw. All he cares about is throwing at all. It’s a surprise to be sure.

His best throw ever in his life placed him in the final.

A spot of luck in his first throw of the event that surprised him and had some of the other guys who had also been swinging the hammer with him pausing to look at him twice.

He hasn’t matched the throw since, but that doesn’t matter now that he’s in the final.

He plays with the lip of his drink bottle as their names are rearranged on the form to account for the change in order. Most of the guys leave the competition area to go back and sit in the stands, some of them might even be going home, but a few of those who didn’t make the final stay to sit and watch from up close while they can.

All Daichi does is sit next to the one guy he recognises from back home. He’s silent, but even just having a presence that he can attach himself to soothes the nerves of not knowing anyone here.

He's looking forward to later in the afternoon so much more. Competing with friends is always so much more fun.

“Round four will now commence, the new order will be Sawamura, Ebihara, Murofushi, Mori, Hatase, Mizoguchi, Kawasaki, Inubushi.” Everyone nods their heads, Daichi included.

_ Time to start. _

“ _Round four, Sawamura, followed by Ebihara._ ”

Daichi picks up the same discus he used for his last three throws, it only worked well on his first throw but surely if a miracle is going to happen twice it’s going to be with the same equipment. A black disk, silver bands, it’s the closest in colour to the one he uses to practice his throwing at school - which is the reason he picked it out in the first place.

As he walks around the net, onto the grass and into the ring he checks out the field. Everything and everyone look to be in place, there’s no need to wait. He’s already eaten up thirty seconds of his time. 

He stands with his back to the field and his heel to the iron plating surrounding the ring.

He counts out his steps — _one, two, three_ — throws the discus from his left to right hand and dives straight into his swing. He follows the momentum of the discus around to the right, then pushes it around to his left with all his strength. He steps back into two spins and with a grunt lifts the discus into the air. With a final twist on his foot, he lands with his back to the landing zone and he is quick to turn and see where his throw has landed.

It’s not great, it’s not his best of the day.

But it is good for him. Good enough for him. Better than anything he's thrown before today.

It’s just that little bit too short - _again_ \- of the white tape that all of the other guys are throwing over easily.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You can do it Suguru!” 

Kenji has never before in his life wanted to hit a girl, but he’s starting to get close to seriously needing to find an outlet that isn’t doing exactly that.

_Daishou_ is the guy who she’s cheering on. _Daishou_ who is obnoxiously shouting out every single thing that has ever happened in his petty little relationship. _Daishou_ who - unfortunately for Kenji - is definitely going to make it to the next round of jumps, which unfortunately means the girlfriend isn't going to leave either.

Mostly, Kenji hates that she seems to cheer whenever she wants to. It’s never specifically for her boyfriend, it’s never when one specific person is jumping. He’s even timed it and she’s not even set to open her mouth after a specific time limit. It’s random, sporadic, and this is the first time it’s happened while Kenji has been readying himself to jump and it pisses him off a lot more than he cares to admit.

It pisses him off more, when after what is almost a good jump the red flag is raised and Kenji is left to stomp back to the bench to sit next to the only other guy who seems pissed at the girl and Daishou. 

Kenji is fuming.

What seems like two seconds later she’s screaming it out again.

“You can do it Suguru!”

At least it’s her _precious Suguru’s_ time to jump this time, but it doesn’t stop Kenji from folding himself in half at the waist and groaning loudly into his legs. 

“I wish they were still broken up!” The guy next to him whines.

Kenji tilts his head to the side to see him pulling at his already unruly hair and glaring at the pit where, if Kenji tilts his head further, Daishou has already jumped and is at the fence talking to his girlfriend. 

“Why couldn’t they have gotten back together after this, today wasn’t meant to be this painful!”

“You know him?” Kenji finds himself asking, rather than feeling like hitting the girl it would be much nicer, much better for his conscience, to air his fury to another person rather than wait for her to scream out her favourite words one time too many.

“Unfortunately,” the guy says, “luckily this is the last time I’ll have to put up with him today.”

“ _Kuroo, followed by Nakanishi._ ”

“This is me, please hope Mika-chan is on my side again this time.”

Kenji nods. He has no idea who the fuck Mika-chan is.

Kuroo runs and jumps and it’s decent. Kenji’s only really been focusing on himself and on Daishou because girlfriend-chan makes it impossible not to have his attention there — but it’s more than likely that Kuroo will make the final as well.

Kuroo waves up to girlfriend-chan, who returns it with a smile — and closer to home Daishou almost growls — and Kenji thinks that this must be Mika-chan.

“Success!” Kuroo cheers as he sits down, and Kenji definitely notices the glare that Daishou sends their way. Kenji finds his mouth easily mimicking Kuroo’s smirk as it’s sent back towards Daishou. Kenji hates him. Hates that as the last jumps of the round wind down and it becomes apparent that he’s definitely going to have to sit through another three rounds of _you can do it Suguru_ ’s.

Kuroo said that Mika was on his side, potentially. If Kenji acts friendlier towards Kuroo when Mika has her eyes their way, will she be on his side too?

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” Nobody says anything, or even looks to say anything, but Bokuto opens up his mouth again to say absolutely nothing. “Hold up right there!” Wakatoshi shares a look with Sawamura and is pretty sure they’re thinking the same thing: is what Bokuto has to say worth this amount of waiting? “Are you telling me that you beat Ushijima at prefectural's?”

Sawamura spares a glance for Wakatoshi. “Yeah,” he answers, and Wakatoshi nods in agreement, “I came first and he came second.”

“ _What?”_ Wakatoshi can’t help the way he automatically turns to face the racers marching over to the line, they definitely all heard that. He’s learned that Bokuto’s usual voice can reach across the field easily, when he’s actually loud, accidentally or on purpose, Wakatoshi isn’t sure there’s such a thing as a private conversation with the guy. “How did you beat Ushijima?”

“What do you mean how did he beat me? He threw further than me on the day.”

“Were you having a bad day?”

“Oi!” Sawamura shouts.

“I threw a personal best.” Wakatoshi states and he watches as a smile makes it’s way onto Sawamura’s face even as Bokuto’s face moves in the opposite direction.

“That isn’t the way it’s supposed to work!” Bokuto looks more than broken at the new information, but Wakatoshi doesn’t feel bad for him at all. “How can I be better than Sawamura if he’s better than you but you’re better than me?”

“It’s like rock, paper, scissors,” Wakatoshi says, “nobody questions how that works out.”

Bokuto and Sawamura both fall into silence, behind the silence Wakatoshi can here the order of throws being called out, he seems to have missed his own name, he hopes he’s not throwing first because he’s going to be well short of time if it’s the case. “Well, he’s not exactly wrong,” Sawamura says, and Bokuto looks like he can’t quite decide whether to be happy or sad about the news.

“I’ll just beat both of you today then!” Sawamura nods at the challenge.

“That’s not how rock, paper, scissors works,” Wakatoshi says instead, “you can only beat one.”

“Then I’m going to beat you! Watch me! This time I will!”

Wakatoshi laughs, and it’s only a short moment before Sawamura joins in. Bokuto doesn’t seem to like the new development of them getting along at all. He pouts, walking away from the both of them and sitting down at the other end of the bench.

Their laughs subside eventually and Sawamura leans back on his hands, head twisting to look over at the track. “How long do you think it’ll be before Bokuto realises that it doesn’t work that way when we’re all in the same competition?”

Wakatoshi looks down the bench to where Bokuto is already talking at someone else. He catches Wakatoshi looking and turns away after sticking his tongue out. Wakatoshi lets a short laugh escape, “probably not till they call out the final rounds of throws.”

Sawamura laughs, “surely he’ll be able to figure it out during the first round.”

“I don’t know,” Wakatoshi says, “if he’s complaining about the entire thing to Yukinaga then he might be told straightaway.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Suguru likes hearing Mika’s voice chime out above the crowd. It’s a high crisp note that has him searching her out every time he hears it. Mika hasn’t moved throughout the entire first three rounds of jumps, but Suguru moves and jumps and sits in different places along the bench each time so it’s a new adventure to search her out each time the words ring out.

He likes having her here.

He likes knowing that she’s here to cheer for him, after so many months of her complaining about all the time they couldn’t spend together because he was practicing.

Suguru hopes that she’s enjoying herself, she seems to be. Every time he looks over she has a smile on her face, and after last time, Suguru has learned to tell when they are real and when they are forced. Today, it all seems real. And Suguru lets her have it, even though he knows that some of her fun has come from talking with some of the people he’d much rather she didn’t get along with.

It physically hurts him every time she waves at Kuroo, but Suguru’s pretty sure that’s just the idea of anyone he likes getting along too well with Kuroo. Kuroo knows things, too many things, things Suguru would rather Mika didn’t come to know.

The crowd claps, slow, steady, it speeds up. Suguru looks to the stands to see Mika clapping along with it, and only once the blur of olive-green hops across his vision does Suguru register that it was Kuroo’s new friend encouraging the stands to clap for his jump.

Suguru isn’t jealous, it’s just something he’s seen at the big competitions and always wanted to try.

He’s not going to try.

It isn’t too hard to look up at the stands from here and see the rest of the team decked out in the same olive-green jerseys. Clappers and cones in hand and ready to cheer for whoever needs it — Suguru’s never felt all that intimidated by someone before, but hearing all that noise aimed at one person is _a little_ intimidating.

And on second thought, he doesn’t actually want all of that attention directed his way while he’s trying to jump. Already today, the knowledge of Mika watching him has had him jumping differently. It’s been an added pressure. A good one, his long jump was a new personal best, and his triple jump hasn’t been great so far, but he’s jumping close to his best - something he hadn’t been able to do at all during the golden week training camp.

He also likes having her here, so that after he jumps he can go up and talk to her, he can hear her gush over him. He can hear her gush over him, using the words and phrases for what he’s doing that he taught her himself - as she sat on the sidelines for half of the last few weekend training camps.

And Kuroo can say it’s gross and disgusting and an eyesore all he likes, but Suguru can only wonder how much more fun all of high school could have been if he’d met her earlier, if he’d been able to show her what all of this _jumping business_ really was earlier.

“You can do it Suguru!” 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yui keeps herself calm this time by watching Sawamura throw. There’s no net in the way this time either which makes it so much easier to _not watch_ as the gun goes off for each heat of guys in front of her. It’s a little bit harder to keep her attention away once the lull comes between the end of the boys races and the start of the girls races, but Sawamura has never had to try too hard to get her eyes on him.

She’s so focused on not looking at the races ahead of her that she doesn’t even think to turn away when Sawamura catches her looking. She’s too stunned at herself for doing such a thing that out of habit she raises her hand and waves at him as well.

It’s always a struggle. She’s known him for so many years and they’ve been good enough friends for Yui to know that waving is normal. Usually she feels she’s toeing a line, between this and the paranoia that one day he’ll notice that she watches after him just that little bit too much.

Today is not that day, which is a relief and also a punch in the face.

—but, Sawamura doesn’t just wave back, he casts his gaze around like he’s doing something bad and crosses over onto the track to come and talk to her.

_An unprecedented occasion_.

Yui steps away from the girls she’s been waiting with and meets him halfway.

“Are you nervous?” He asks.

“Nope!” Yui cheers, but her hands are shaking at her sides. It’s always the heats that make her more nervous.

It’s telling, that Sawamura follows the line of her arm, follows down to where they toy with the outline of the charm at her side.

He pulls her hand away and Yui feels the burn of his touch even after he’s let her go again. 

“There’s no need to be nervous, don’t you remember at the end of middle school, we said all we wanted was to get to nationals!” He says it and he smiles in the way she likes, and she can’t stop looking, “anything else is a bonus!” He smiles in the way that first had her heart working too hard. It’s too much.

"You're right!" She says, punctuating the words with stinging palms against her cheeks. A wake-up call this time. She's not here to get flustered over Sawamura, she’s here to run her heart out and hope for the best.

"I'll be cheering for you, give it your all!"

Yui scoffs, she never gives anything less than her best. "I will, you'll see!" Her hand ends up back at her side but this time, Sawamura doesn't pull it away. Instead, he turns back to where the boys are clustered around their bench and Yui understands; he’s been here for long enough, and he's helped in ways she doesn't think he'll ever know. "You should head back, but I'll listen out for you, you better be cheering loud!"

"I promise," he says, and Yui flushes when his own hand goes to sit on his hip.

She watches him all the way until he's back under the tent and pulled into whatever it is they all seem to be huddling around before she goes back to where her own event is waiting. She’s already missed the first heat, and with it the nerves of finding out what she’s up against.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daichi comes back from the short break to find everyone else left to throw in the finals round huddled closely together over the bench. 

Being the captain of a team of teenage boys has his instinct yelling at him that he really doesn’t want to know what’s grouped them all together like this. His curiosity, however, wants in.

Especially because he pushes his face between the two sets of shoulders he actually knows enough to do such a thing, and immediately the hushed whispers are silenced. And that isn't unnerving, not unnerving at all.

He finds himself glaring at Bokuto, Bokuto seems like the easiest target. None of the guys he _doesn’t_ know are going to tell him anything, and Ushijima seems much more impenetrable compared to Bokuto’s wide open eyes. If he knew Bokuto better Daichi would probably be able to read the entire conversation in his eyes, as it is, Daichi can read enough to know that at least a part of the conversation involved himself.

“ _Round four will now commence._ ” Daichi's missed the order, but that doesn’t matter so long as he listens out for his name. 

As everyone disperses, one guy up to the ring, Daichi holds tight to Bokuto’s arm and forces him to sit where a second ago everyone had been standing. “So what was that about?”

“Nothing!” Bokuto yelps. “It was about nothing, absolutely nothing, but it should be about your workout routine because _ouch!_ your grip is tight, no wonder you beat Ushijima! What training have you been doing, Grip strength? Finger exercises?” Bokuto’s face flushes and turns away and Daichi puts more force into his grip on Bokuto’s shoulder because surely with a bit more rambling it’ll come around to what Daichi wants to know. “Ouch! Really this is amazing, later you’ll have to tell me all about it, maybe then I can beat Ushijima and—“

“Girls,” Ushijima says the word so quietly that if it weren’t for the way the rumble of his voice gets Bokuto to stop talking Daichi would have missed it. “We were talking about girls, boys as well,” Ushijima says as he nods down the bench to someone Daichi doesn’t really know, “but mostly girls.”

“Okay,” Daichi says slowly, “and why couldn’t I know about this?”

Bokuto opens his mouth to respond, “ _Sawamura, followed by Bokuto._ ”

Daichi knows that once he stands up he’s never going to get to hear the end of the conversation, but he’s on a time limit. He levels one long glare at Bokuto, and directs a shorter one to Ushijima as well, seeing as it turned out that Ushijima was the first to cave. 

He picks up the shot put, stands at the back of the ring, and fists the shot put to his throat. In doing so, he hears the ring of the gun and freezes for a moment — he forgot all about Michimiya’s race. He should have been paying attention.

The clock is ticking.

Daichi rearranges his fingers, lifts his arm to the sky and steps into his spin.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 **Oikawa-san @ JNHSC ✌︎ **● @goldmedaltooru ● 5 mins ago

spotted @ JNHSC: young love ft mr&mrs @captaindaichi #findsomeonewho #liftogetherstaytogether #quadsoffuryinstagram.com/p/BIb0bO22g-/

Tooru gives up after that. He doesn’t know who it was that Sawamura was talking to, so even as Tooru watches her finish up her race he doesn’t really feel like he can run up and talk to her - even though he really wants to. He can’t talk to her in the usual way that he talks to girls because he doesn’t want Sawamura to hate him.

Especially not when most of them came down together, a giant caravan of buses, and will likely be together again on the way back.

He will, however, be keeping the world updated on this development because he is firstly _convinced_ that Mr and Mrs Sawamura are not yet Mr and Mrs, and yet he firmly believes that it will soon be the case.

And if in a month it turns out not to be the case, then Tooru will have a strong word with Sawamura because that chemistry was visible even across the track and through the zoomed in blurry photo he managed to freeze-frame from the video he had been taking.

“What are you looking at?” Tooru jumps in place at the unexpected voice. Too long looking at his phone for Mrs Sawamura - yielding no results - has had him miss the end results of some of the other events.

Tooru flashes up his phone for Kuroo to see. Kuroo’s eyes light up and Tooru immediately decides that this was a good decision. “You’ve been to Karasuno before right? Do you know who she is?”

Kuroo shakes his head, “we only competed with the boys, aren’t you more likely to have seen her around at competitions?”

Tooru sighs because it’s true, but also, he doesn’t pay that much attention to people that aren’t either racing him or interested in him. The future Mrs Sawamura is neither. With good reason. Therefore it’s safe to say that she’s never been anywhere close to Tooru’s radar. That changes now.

Now he hopes they can mix and match to be on the same bus back so that he can talk to her.

Tooru’s phone lights up with notifications, Kuroo now follows him on both Twitter and Instagram, and has liked and retweeted the photo as well. “If we get it around someone will know her.” Tooru doesn’t necessarily want the picture to get around. Yes, he shared it on his profile, but that's mostly because it was cute. He doesn’t know this girl, he doesn’t need it getting around, what if she hates it? What if she’s actually dating someone and Tooru has read this whole situation wrong?

“There are other people from his school here,” Tooru eventually says, “one of them would know.”

“But do you know any of them?”

“I do,” Tooru says, he doesn’t elaborate.

“Okay then,” Kuroo says, dragging the words out. “I do too, we’ll get there eventually—“ Kuroo takes a deep dramatic breath— “and then we can be matchmakers!”

“How are you going to play at matchmaking when you live hours away from the match taking place?”

Tooru one hundred and ten percent supports the idea. 

“I can be very persuasive,” Kuroo says, shrugs, “and lacking that, annoying.”

Tooru holds up his phone, “I’ll need your contact details so that we can work on this together.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

The bar’s only set to one eighty-five. Yuuji should be able to make the jump in his sleep, and yet, he’s knocked the bar off twice in a row now.

He sits for a moment, he has a couple of minutes now that he’s the only one left attempting the height. This is what he gets though, isn’t it? It’s what Futukuchi’s smirk is telling him at least. He hates it. Yuuji wants to make the jump just so he can wipe it off of his face. Futukuchi isn’t even jumping yet which means it’s _way too early_ for Yuuji to be left out of the fun. How does he go from a jump off during the prefectural tournament with the guy to this?

“You know,” Futakuchi says, and Yuuji really just _does not_ want to know, “if you stop trying to flip you’ll probably make it over the bar easily.”

_Easily_ — that’s _easy_ for him to say. The problem is that the jump _should_ be easy and yet it’s _not easy at all_.

“ _One minute._ ”

“Fuck!”

“Just think about it.”

Yuuji can’t just think about it. When he’s jumping he doesn’t think of anything at all. These days it all just flows together it a way that says he’s practiced all of the boring techniques too many times. Adding his own flair is all he has to keep it from being the model jump that most of the other guys use — the jump that Futakuchi uses.

And if the girl's school sitting directly behind them, cheering every time he manages a flip, likes his own style of personal flair too then who is he to deny himself of it? To deny them of it?

Yuuji stamps his foot on the floor. He has to do it.

He can’t let the bar fall again.

Yuuji finds himself glaring at Futakuchi who only smirks back. He knows. He knows already that Yuuji is going to jump his way.

The run up doesn’t change. His approach is the same up until he pushes down to take off. Yuuji is no stranger to boring jumps. He knows how to change the contortion of his body in order to follow the textbook style of jump. It’s easy.

His back hits the mat, his legs curl over his head, Yuuji pushes into the motion, stands up and bounces down from the mat quickly.

To see the bar still held in place one hundred and eighty-five centimetres high.

Yuuji doesn’t look at anyone as he sits down. He pulls his water bottle from the disembodied hand that holds it out to him and buries his face in his towel. His face feels hot, his chest is burning, everything is on fire.

“I don’t even want to hear it,” Yuuji says.

He hears it anyway. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” but the hitch in Futakuchi’s voice says it to Yuuji just as well as the actual words would have. Better probably.

He actually gave in. He, Terushima Yuuji, gave in. He got scared out of his last jump and he gave in. His everything is aflame with what he is sure to be the brightest flush of his life. He’s so embarrassed. To give in here. In front of Futakuchi, who will never let him live this down; in front of the girl's school, he’s not going to be able to ask for contact details now.

Not now that he's delivered the same boring performance as everyone else. Everything he’s ever believed in has crumbled to pieces and Yuuji isn’t even in his last year of high school yet.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Nooooooo!” Koutarou shouts even as he’s mid throw. The guys sitting behind him laugh, but he doesn’t find anything particularly funny in the way the shot put is picked up as soon as it’s landed and in the small wave of the red flag he can’t help but see — try as he might, to turn in the opposite direction before walking back to the bench.

Koutarou keeps his head down, watching his feet as they trace the lines on the floor back to the bench.

He sits down on the opposite side to where everyone else has crowded together for the final round of throws.

There are no hard feelings left at this stage. The rivalries between most of them fizzling out as most of their tournament comes to a close. They all pretty much know the end results of the day anyway, a few people might change up their positions during the final round, but so far the final three throws have followed the order they're all throwing in.

“That was an interesting noise,” Yukinaga says, Koutarou knows the words are simply to be conversational but it doesn’t stop his head from dropping further down to rest between his knees.

“Yeah,” Hanayama agrees, “although it was refreshing to hear something unique, it was better than the usual sex noises.”

“What!?” Koutarou shouts, springing back up. He knocks his head on the knees of whoever moved to sit behind him as he discovers that the crowd has followed him up to the other side of the bench.

“You don’t hear it? It’s all we talk about usually, sometimes at the prefectural tournaments we make it more fun by trying to see who can make the worst noises.”

“What!” Koutarou repeats, and Sawamura — he recognises the hacking voice — coughs up the same word behind him over an attempted drink of water.

“Seriously?” Yukinaga says, “okay listen to Ushijima, his one is great because his voice is so fucking deep.”

Koutarou watches. He watches Ushijima’s giant hands take over the shot put that seems way too small in his palm. He watches Ushijima’s chest expand with a giant breath. He watches Ushijima spin into his throw and then he hears it.

His mouth falls open and he’s left dumbstruck.

How many years has he been doing this event and he’s never noticed such a thing before? Sure, most of the other guys have their other throwing events — which now that Koutarou thinks about it, must be filled with the same kind of games — in which to look and listen for every little thing. But how has he never noticed? How has nobody ever told him that sometimes he, must also, surely grunts like _that?_

_Sex noises_. That’s what they first said. How has nobody told Koutarou that he makes embarrassing, almost exaggeratingly obnoxious noises when he throws?

“I can’t believe you’ve never noticed before,” Yukinaga says, he sucks in a breath “which means you’ve never played before!”

More jaws drop, almost seeming to disapprove of Koutarou’s neglected upbringing purely because he’s never played this game before.

“That settles it,” Hanayama says, “final round, the real winner today is someone who can disturb the first official.” All of their heads turn to face him, decked all out in white on his white chair with his white paper marked out with noughts and crosses.

“Is everyone in?”

In lieu of shouting out an agreement, everyone that Koutarou hasn’t spent a lot of time with exhales groans the likes of which Koutarou usually tries to muffle even when he’s listening through headphones.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tooru isn’t graced with running in a later heat. No, instead he’s in heat one, lane three, with two races to come through after him. He hates it. He understands why there’s a need for such a thing, but it doesn't stop him from hating it.

Nearly everyone is lined up within his view, and unfortunately again, he doesn’t recognise any of them. He knows lane two, and more than half of the people in the races after his, but bad luck has put him in this race. _Excellent_.

He's is faster than the guy in lane two, but apart from that he doesn’t know enough about his heat to know how fast they’ll run. Fast enough to get here, _obviously_ , but what is their pace? Will Tooru be content to sit with them until the last lap, or does he need to push with his all the entire way around the track? 

At least this time, it’s his last event. He can go all out, he can fall across the finish line. As long as he does well enough that he finishes in the top overall, it’s fine. 

He steps up to the line and waits for the lull. The calm before the storm. The quiet permeates the air and he listens to the beat of his heart, the catch of his breath, the places his uniform catches against his skin.

“ _Take your marks!_ ” 

He bounces in place and then jogs up to the line, there’s a brief pause. Seemingly so much longer in the moment than it seems when he’s watching on.

_ Bang! _

He hugs the inside of his lane as he chases the curve. He’s in line with another two people in front of him, and that means he needs to be faster. As they break away from their lanes he rushes into the front. He rushes to the front and then he never stops.

He keeps up his high pace for the first lap. He doesn’t know where anyone else is. It doesn’t matter.

He can hear stuttered breaths behind him, but it doesn’t matter if he doesn't let them past.

He is racing against the clock, not them. He’s racing against the two other heats after his own.

He has to make his time enviable. Unbeatable.

There’s nothing after this, this is the end of the day for him, and he'd like to ride out this last competition, this last event at his last competition, on a high.

The bell rings and his eyes latch onto the clock behind the finish line: fifty-eight seconds.

It’s only on the second lap that Tooru starts taking in the noise from elsewhere. The noise from the stadium filters through his head. 

_Louder and louder_ with each step he takes closer to the line. It’s all he has to judge how he’s doing.

_Louder and louder_ as he gets closer to collapsing. 

_Louder and louder_ so that he can convince himself not to collapse, not just yet.

_Louder and louder_ to let him know that he’s nearly done.

_Louder and louder_ as he finally makes it down the straight.

There are people in his periphery, fanned out to the other lanes now that it no longer means running further.

All he cares about are the people behind the line, the officials, the recording tent, the two heats of people standing to the side watching his time, wanting to know how fast they need to run after him to beat it.

Has he done enough? Has he been good enough? This year, this time, will it be enough?

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Suguru hates it just a little bit how much some of the guys pander to the crowd. It doesn't make sense. Performing acrobatics only make the judges more likely to fault them for the bar coming down with a delay. There’s no appealing against how much an extra kick and an extra tumble are going to sway the air around the bar.

He hates it.

Just like he hates the fact that Kuroo’s new friend is also partaking in this event, is better friends with the crowd pandering blond idiot, and _still hasn’t jumped yet_.

Suguru thought that waiting till one-ninety was a gutsy move.

But apparently not.

And even with the bar moving up ever so slowly each and every round Kuroo’s new friend has yet to jump and Suguru _hates it_.

He likes the fact that the blond idiot has had to give up his flips in order to jump properly. It sucks that he’s still in the competition, but at least he’s jumping like an athlete now.

“ _Daishou, second attempt at one metre, ninety-three centimetres, followed by_ —”

He drops off his towel and flings his drink bottle down on top of it. It rolls off the bench and onto the floor, but that’s fine.

He finds his marker on the ground, and with his eyes, he follows the curve of his approach to the bar. Suguru hops into his approach, stepping carefully into his routine. He arcs his back carefully over the bar, kicking his feet up at the end.

He lands on his shoulders, and exhales a breath of relief that this time, the bar isn’t coming down on top of him.

He crawls off the mat to a quiet applause directed towards him, and a louder one as yet another heat makes it’s way around the track.

Two more people have a second attempt at the height, one has a third, and ends up leaving the competition.

The officials talk amongst themselves. There are still eight of them jumping — seven of them jumping, one of them waiting.

“ _The bar will be raised to one metre and ninety-six centimetres._ ”

He releases a rough exhale. He’s never actually made it to ninety-six, five is his best, but surely he can do this here. He can’t get out before someone even starts jumping. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll hit the ever elusive two metres today.

He shakes himself out of the thought. Wishful thinking is a completely different thing to being in the zone. Mika is watching somewhere, and he’d love to reach higher limits than ever before under her sparkling eyes. Even so, some things are guaranteed to be impossible for the moment.

He’s not going to win today. That much is obvious, but he can win against himself. It’s not quite as exciting of an achievement, but it doesn’t stop it from being an achievement.

“ _Terushima, first attempt at one metre, ninety-six centimetres, followed by Futakuchi_.”

The two guys Suguru hates the most in this moment high five each other and he holds on tighter to the idea that today he _has_ to be at his best. So long as he can make it through this next height successfully he’ll have reached a new personal best and also, more importantly to his pride, he won’t have been knocked out of the competition before someone else even deigns to start jumping.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s not written out in a notebook, but in some instances, his mind acts as a better place to store the information than a piece of paper. This is especially so for Wakatoshi when it comes to one Oikawa Tooru.

As an updated announcement runs through the stadium on the most successful schools on this day, Wakatoshi adds the points that Oikawa has accumulated for his school to the ones Shiratorizawa has earned today — it’s amazing how much difference just one person can make. Wakatoshi will forever lament that Shiratorizawa is kept out of the top schools in the nation based on points that Oikawa easily earns with his running.

Wakatoshi has Oikawa’s time for the last race burned into his mind, he compares it to the second race, and soon, he will be able to run it against the last heat of the event.

From his vantage point in the stadium, Wakatoshi can look down and see where Oikawa rests up against the recording tent, likely feeling every millisecond that passes until he knows where he really places. Bokuto, as always, is talking his face off behind Oikawa, waiting for his own race, but Wakatoshi can tell that Oikawa doesn’t even know the guy is there.

“One, two, three—“

_ Bang! _

_Soon_ , soon Wakatoshi will be able to put his timing into his own race, but now that _this_ race has started, he can focus on the clock, on the racers, on Oikawa biting his lip and Bokuto’s silenced mouth as Oikawa squeezes at his hand.

The first three hundred metres is faster than Oikawa’s race, but there’s a noticeable drop in the pace as they all run through the bell.

Fifty-seven seconds.

Wakatoshi looks down at Oikawa again. Resting on his knees and pulling Bokuto nearly off balance as he clings to his arm once more. Wakatoshi can read the excitement in Oikawa’s face. He’s always been a strong finisher. Even Wakatoshi fears Oikawa’s ability to make up time towards the end of a race. Before switching over from the flat Wakatoshi had always been wary of putting enough space between them before Oikawa’s desire to finish kicked in.

Once Oikawa catches up, that’s it.

One second of difference in lap one makes all the difference in the lap that follows.

The heat doesn’t seem to look like it’s getting faster again until they hit the final curve.

And in Wakatoshi’s personal — _perhaps somewhat biased_ — opinion, there is no longer a race for first place.

He wouldn’t put it past Oikawa to be thinking along the same lines, but another look down at the space after the finish line only shows Wakatoshi that Oikawa has given up watching the race. His face is buried somewhere in Bokuto’s jersey, even as it appears that Bokuto might be giving a running commentary on the race.

The stadium fills with noise, as it always does at the conclusion of a race, and Wakatoshi watches the clock count up.

He believes in Oikawa’s ability, and he’s watched so many of these races over so many years, and Wakatoshi has every motion and movement burned into his memory and to him, it seems there isno way that anyone could steal first place in this moment.

The clock ticks up, up, up, _and past_.

It’s not even his race, Oikawa doesn’t even like him, isn’t even a part of his school — the points aren’t his — but Wakatoshi still feels a tenseness leave his shoulders when the clock finally does stop. He’s finally done it, Wakatoshi can be happy about that, even without the win being his own.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kenji doesn’t usually like a slow moving bar, but it’s less torturous when there’s only the two of them jumping.

Three people still sit watching, but everyone else has left.

He feels like this is a game more than it’s real. It feels like playing around at practice a lot more than it feels like he and Terushima are battling it out to be one and two in the nation.

It’s also a nice feeling. He doesn’t mind. It’s nice not to have the edge of competition in the air. It’s nice that he gets a slap on the back every time he makes it through a jump, and he likes tapping back a high five every time Terushima lands a successful jump.

Then again, he might not be that worried because Terushima has gone back to basics — his own particular brand of basics. Terushima flips his way through every first attempt, and only one in every three seem to be successful. It would be terrifying, to think that Terushima can flip his way over a bar that stands over two metres high, if Kenji didn’t know that half the time Terushima only makes it because he puts the extra bounce into his step in order to flip.

He doesn't know why he doesn't use the extra bounce to boost him when he's not flipping, but Kenji isn't idiot enough to pass that particular piece of advice on.

Terushima has more faults, and jumps first, and Kenji can handle the pressure of following him up.

“ _Terushima, second attempt, two metres and ten centimetres._ ”

Kenji dabs his towel at the sweat dripping down his face and settles it around his neck to watch Terushima jump. He likes that it’s only the two of them. It’s the same way they jumped last time, to get here. And it’s this thought really, that Kenji holds on to.

They finished together last time, and last time Terushima was the one dubbed the winner. So far, today, Kenji is the one likely to win if they go out together again.

Terushima’s second jump is always less impressive than his first. Yes, he makes it over the bar, but Kenji enjoys watching him toy with the sport. Really, Kenji enjoys seeing the reactions other people have when they watch Terushima toy with the sport, and he’s not disappointed. The three guys sitting further along the bench mutter behind held up hands; Kenji doesn’t hear what they’re saying, he doesn’t need to.

It's all a part of the game.

He slaps at Terushima’s palm and holds out his drink bottle and for a few moments while the bar is moved up again they sit together in silence.

“ _The bar is set at two metres and twelve centimetres, Terushima, followed by Futakuchi_.”

Terushima exhales a heavy breath. “There’s no end to it!”

Kenji feels his mouth pull up into a smirk. _Too easy_. “You can end it now if you like, I don’t mind.”

“Ha!” Terushima shouts, loud enough to get the other guys to jump away from their conversation. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“The fun comes when I win.”

“Then where’s _my_ fun in that?”

Kenji shrugs, but it doesn’t take too long to hear the high pitched voices that are the background to this event. He changes tactics, he nods his head in the direction of the group watching in the stands behind them. “There’s your fun.”

Terushima smiles wider than Kenji has seen all day. “Our fun,” he says, walking up to his marker on the track. He waves to the crowd who cheer in turn and start clapping up a beat for Terushima to stride to. “We can both go over when we’re done!” He calls over the noise.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Taking into account the fact that he’s has just watched Oikawa successfully hold down his own timed final, Koutarou should be feeling a lot more confident in himself for running in the last heat of his own timed final.

He's not.

It’s probably the waiting, he was not made to sit still and somehow he let himself be pulled into being Oikawa’s stress ball for the entirety of two full races.

Even now that the hurdles have been set up around the track he still has the nail marks embedded in his hands and up his wrists. Oikawa has a tight grip — who knew?

And now he has to wait again. He has to wait for the blocks being set up, the first flight being run over, tapped over, fixed up by the officials. He has to wait through the starter calling out the event, the pause between words and the gun. He has to wait for the entire race.

He has to wait for it all _twice_ and Oikawa wasn’t even able to stay and act as his stress ball in turn.

But as heat two clears off and Koutarou’s own is ushered on to the track there’s nothing much Oikawa would have been able to give him.

He’s out in lane seven, not a great place to be, and Koutarou walks up his lane, past everyone else in his heat. Everyone he’ll have to stay ahead of in addition to the time in his mind. The one consolation of running last is this: he knows the time he has to beat and he has been able to beat it before, he can beat it, easily, _usually_.

He stills in his motions.

Is it two lengths before he sets the head down? Or it is two lengths to his first foot? The second foot? Between them?

He can’t look at anyone else for help because already he can see people running past him, practicing, and he doesn’t even know where to place his feet.

Well, this is embarrassing, everyone’s watching, but there's nothing else to it, _he can’t remember his placements_.

The numbers etched into the sides aren’t helping, and everyone is too far away. Oikawa is behind the gate, _but he doesn’t know_ , and Akaashi probably does but he’s on the other side of the track. One day, one day Fukurodani will score seats along the finish line but it was not today and Koutarou is suffering because of it.

The officials are coming, the officials are coming to check the setup and Koutarou _hasn’t even_ set up yet.

Embarrassing, _embarrassing_ , even more embarrassing.

Koutarou drops to his hands and knees and measures the blocks out the way he used to when he first started. He gets into position along the line, then sits up and fits the blocks into position behind his feet.

_Someone’s laughing_ , and that’s what he can hear. Further afield there will be more people laughing because Koutarou’s an idiot and he’s had the same set up for years, it hasn’t changed since his last growth spurt back when he was in first year and he only uses them in one event and he’s gone and forgotten it the very last time that he might ever need to know it.

Koutarou tests it out over one flight of hurdles, it doesn’t feel perfect, but as he’s walking back to the line the whistle blows to ready them for the race and Koutarou is stuck now, it will just have to do.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yui has stopped feeling anything of consequence. She’s entirely convinced that this whole day has been a dream.

It’s impossible. An impossible day. She’s been having an impossible day that just doesn’t make sense.

It’s impossible that she’s gone, moved on from trying to race with her friends and with her team, never advancing, _never being good enough_ , to now _this_. It’s impossible because she has never been the best, never thought she could be the best, always felt like the one on her team who was pulling them back, pulling them behind — failed exchanges, failed relays. Failing completely to act as a good captain.

Never did she think she would make nationals.

Never did she think she would make the finals for _both_ of her races at nationals.

It’s a dream, simple, and knowing this makes everything so much easier.

She doesn’t need to stress, there’s no need to be nervous, there’s no need to worry about the silence that spreads through her heat — her final — behind the blocks because this is all a dream. She doesn’t know what words get spoken behind the blocks of a final — a final at nationals — and so her mind can’t put the words in.

This, is so much easier.

“ _Take your marks!_ ”

She exhales a deep breath, because she knows how to do that, she watches one of the girls jump, but she knows this girl and knows that jump and it’s routine from here on in.

It’s a routine built up over so many years, it’s a routine that has become a comfort. So drilled into her mind and her body, that it easily comes to her in her dreams as well.

She crouches down and stretches out her legs behind her, first one, into the block, and then the other.

She sits up, brushes short tendrils of hair away from her face and looks out ahead of her. The track curves around to her left, and in the way are nets and poles, at the edges are the people, but in between, almost out of sight, is the finish line.

_She’ll be there soon_.

From the gun to the line there will be less than twenty-six seconds.

She stretches out her hands to the mark on the floor, her eyes following, she exhales a breath and rests, waiting for the other girls to get into position as well.

“ _Set!_ ”

It’s the way she’s dreaming, but the set is short and the gun is quick and although it’s out of sight Yui can picture the clock starting, counting up. Twenty-six seconds until it’s over.

Yui can’t tell if she’s breathing, all she feels is the pull of her legs, the lean of her body. She can hear the wind and the rush of voices, all pulling together into a constant roar that pulls on her, pushes her around the bend where she steps into the outside of her lane and pushes on and on and on.

She can see the line now, there’s nothing in the way.

Her body hurts, her lungs burn, but it will all be over soon.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Having just watched Bokuto run for his life, Wakatoshi is feeling quietly confident in being able to out run him now. 

He doesn’t voice this thought, but if the wide berth and whispering hands are an indication of anything, it’s that his body says it for him, probably better than his words would — after all, they've never been his strong point. 

Bokuto seems to be one of the few not able to read off the energy that he's is sending out, but that might still be because Bokuto’s face is a bright flushed red even now. One of the reasons for Wakatoshi’s confidence, and yet it also seems to still be fuelling him with adrenaline. A constant from his race earlier and flushing his system still.

Wakatoshi is quietly confident, and yet Bokuto’s vibrating energy means that quiet is how it will stay.

In time, the whistle sounds and the gap is lost. The whispers halt, and everything hushes. He can hear the rustling of the starters clothes through the microphone, readying the gun, raising it.

“ _Take your marks!”_

It’s the end of the day, there’s no pushing, not really, just a quiet acceptance of elbows and shoulders and the fact that those along the edge are all pushing in a lot tighter than they need to.

Wakatoshi counts it out in his head, _one, two, three_ —

_ Bang! _

He starts out with the gun, perfectly so in his own opinion, but there’s a flash of nerves that travel his body as he strains to hear if a second one will sound.

Quiet, nothing, _cheers_.

He falls into step behind Bokuto, there’s no need to push, not yet, Bokuto’s body still seems to thrumb, visibly, with whatever energy that has been bestowed upon his body and Wakatoshi thinks only of following. He can match his pace to it, his steps and his breaths, and from behind, as they approach the first hurdle, Wakatoshi can analyse Bokuto’s form today.

And the confidence gets a little bit louder.

He can see how Bokuto is running, how he alters his steps to make the leap, he can see the point in which his balance is most vulnerable and seeing this, he can see where to push through at a point where there is nothing that Bokuto can do about it — not if he wants to remain standing.

He doesn’t do anything, not yet.

He watches Bokuto push off the hurdle for the water jump, and thinks that this might be where he can take it, where he can change things up. Wakatoshi hurdles it the same as he does the other four hurdles on the track: he doesn’t touch the barrier, he glides smoothly over it and lands quickly. The water soaks up into his shoes briefly as he lands but it’s a fleeting sensation. Already all he thinks of is the next hurdle and the people around him.

He looks before the hurdle on the straight, it’s a quick, cursory glance as he checks that he has enough space, and even now after only two laps passing the race has stretched out.

All he has to do is keep pace with Bokuto, a faster pace than usual, a pace that is sure to fade, Wakatoshi is sure, _he’s so sure_. All he has to do is keep up, and push past the fade and stay in front.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yuuji stands at the gate close to the water jump and keeps his phone held out in front of him, camera on and set to record. If someone falls, he wants it.

“Who do you think it’ll be?”

Yuuji shrugs, he has no idea. Realistically none of these guys should be falling. A fall surely means losing here, and none of them will want that. Still, shrugging isn’t an answer when the other guys from his school are around. Shrugging isn’t an answer as some of the girls cheering for him earlier crowd the fence as well. 

He clutches his phone tight in his hand, holding it level against the fence as they come around the track again. After making sure that the entire water jump is in the shot, he picks his face up from the screen to watch the jump unfold in front of him. 

Yuuji knows the two in front, one via location and the other by association, and crosses the both of them off of his mental checklist. The have plenty of space, and while Yuuji thinks the rivalry between the two might lead to clipped heels or nudged shoulders, he doesn’t think it will be enough to get them in the water.

No, he’s much more sure that if someone falls in it’s going to be someone from the pack. Someone in the middle. Someone boxed in too tight to get the approach down and time their jump right all without knocking into too many people at the same time.

He has his eyes on a group of eight people that seem far too tightly bunched up to move at all. And yet they do, and he has his money on someone here going down.

The only other person it could be is the guy trailing at the back. Trailing so far behind that Yuuji half wants to make a bet on whether he’ll be lapped. He might fall. He looks exhausted. Too exhausted to run the flat race, never mind adding on all the extra hurdles as well.

He voices his pick. “I’m thinking either red and green in the middle or blue and white at the back.”

An assenting murmur runs along from him at the fence, and he hears everyone else pick someone out as well.

Nobody picks Ushijima, an interesting aside, two have picked Bokuto, and Yuuji manages to see that the two guys picking Bokuto have squeezed in along the fence as well, phones out, trying to capture someone from their own school making an embarrassment of himself.

_Interesting_. He still doesn’t think it will be Bokuto, but it’s interesting to think about.

Leading the race and then falling behind due to a fall seems almost like a fairytale story, in reverse maybe. And unlike the other guys, Yuuji keeps his phone propped up the entire time. Recording every single splash that lands across the track in front of them.

He’s not doing this for a picture. He’s doing this to show off even after the day is over. He’s doing this so he can post it and so that everyone can remember, he’s doing this because he has three girls numbers and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to talk about once they get through talking about their own placements during the day.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Sixteen_ , Koutarou thinks, and as he lands he lets his eyes rest on the clock for a moment.

Three, the board reads.

And then he’s at fifteen.

Koutarou leads himself around the track, focusing on the fall of his feet and the breath in his lungs.

_Fourteen_.

And the sound of Ushijima landing at his shoulder.

He’s a shadow, big and giant and just out of view, not out of reach. Koutarou can’t stop, he can’t slow, he just has to keep going.

_Thirteen_.

Koutarou lands the jump and follows the cones of the track, he alters his step and pushes off the hurdles and lands with a heavy splash that races up his legs. It’s cooling, it’s nice, it’s over too soon as he races back onto the track and back into position.

_Eleven_.

And the refreshing feel of the water is already gone.

_Two_.

He’s nearly there. Nearly.

_Ten_.

There’s just him and his stuttered breathing and Ushijima’s heavy panting and somewhere Koutarou can hear the cheering but all he can think about is—

_Nine_.

Except nearly is not yet. He’s tired. Why does he like this event? Why does he push so hard?

A maroon coloured shoulder comes into view and Koutarou turns his head so as not to look. If he can't see it it's not there.

_Eight_.

It chases him. A rough push that Koutarou can’t do anything about, not as he’s just pushed off into the flight. But he lands and Ushijima is there and he’s not a shadow he’s just _there_ and Koutarou hates it. Hates that he was just waiting, baiting him, letting him believe he was ahead until the time came when he could move.

_Seven_.

There’s nothing refreshing about it. Koutarou can only watch on as Ushijima pushes ahead. One extra step. Koutarou has one extra step in his approach and that’s all that Ushijima needs. 

_Six_.

And now it’s up to Koutarou to keep up. To match the pace.

_One_.

And the bell rings.

But this is where Koutarou is more familiar with things.

_Five_.

This part is easy. This part is so much easier. The bell is like the gun and this is what he’s already done, but this is also so much easier. There’s so much less to think about and to worry about and he hasn’t messed anything up yet.

_Four_.

And, Koutarou feels like Ushijima has forgotten. He has to have forgotten, or not noticed, or not cared. But this is Koutarou’s event. This is what he’s good at. This last lap, the last four hundred metres — it’s always belonged to him, and he has never quite gotten the hang of sharing it.

_Three_.

And Koutarou knows how to race against a clock and against people; he has the marks in his hand that show his experience with it, that show how otherpeople experience it. And Ushijima might be good and he can race against himself, but Koutarou knows when to push and when to pull and when to open up the gates that flood his body with nothing but the desire to win.

He knows how it feels to know the time in advance that he needs to beat.

He’s been counting down the laps and the hurdles and watching the time count up and Koutarou knows that now is his time to move.

And he's a sprinter at heart.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kenji listens to the booming echo of his school cheer as he watches the race. It’s nice to be one of the loudest schools in the stadium, although it’s much easier to do so at this point in the day. A lot of people have gone home, a lot of schools have gone home.

The opening ceremony is boring enough but unless you’re the school being handed the flag then there’s no great need to stay around for the closing ceremony. It’s a ghost town compared to the opening ceremony.

And Kenji likes the quiet of it, he likes how the voice of his school booms throughout the stadium. It's impossible for the team on the track not to know how many people have stayed to watch them, to cheer for them, and Kenji has no choice in the matter as honorary captain for the tournament, but even if it wasn’t a part of his duty to stay and watch there’s something about this year's relay team that makes it impossible for him not to watch.

And it’s only partly because of the mess they make.

At least they’re not as bad as other teams— _well_ — they get the job done. It’s more than can be said for some of the other, _more promising_ , teams he’s come across recently.

It’s almost eerie. To change from the booming chant into silence as the whistle cuts through the air. Kenji looks and analyses what he can see from where he stands on the flight of stairs closest to the finish line. From here he has a birds-eye view of the entire track. Of each schools team spaced out at each corner. 

They look fine, they look relaxed and they have a baton that shares almost the same colour as their uniforms and at this point Kenji will take all the signs of luck that he can.

The mumble of the starters instructions are lost to him as he watches, but he focuses on their starter. A second year, who came only for this event. Next year Kenji hopes he’ll have more luck in other events but at this very moment, the entire race is dependent on him.

And the gun rings out twice, and they all pull up to start again.

Kenji was so focused on his own team that he doesn’t know where the warning goes, doesn’t even think to look until it registered that everyone is folding themselves back into their blocks.

He feels tense himself as the runners all rise into the set position. He ran the relay team through their practice the day before on their track visit, but he can’t tell if they practiced enough. Do they know all their marks properly? _Their starts?_ It’s out of his hands now, and as the gun signals the start of the race — smoothly this time — it’s out of their hands as well. 

He relaxes a little after the first changeover, it’s always been the one they’ve struggled with the most, but changing positions hadn’t seemed to help.

Koganegawa exceeds at the back straight, where his excess energy and speed is best put to use. As long as the baton makes it into his hands the rest is easy. While most people may be perturbed by the stark difference between their second and third runners, Sakunami has mastered the art of steering Koganegawa to the outside of the lane for the changeover.

And once it’s in Aone’s hands, the race is over. Aone only knows how to give everything his all, and Kenji wouldn’t even consider giving the anchor position to anyone else. It belongs to Aone, his intimidating aura and his giant body chasing down anyone in front of him, chasing down the victory.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tetsurou lets out a giant sigh. “Is it just me, or is it always disappointing when one of the teams doesn’t finish?” Nobody answers him, and so he continues his thoughts out loud. “Like Nekoma would never be able to put forward a relay team, but,” he turns his attention to Sawamura, “I was sure you guys had a good chance at it.”

Sawamura avoids his gaze and mumbles something under his breath, the tips of his ears give away the hint of pink that rises to his face and Tetsurou decides that this is a story that he _definitely_ has to get to the bottom of, _eventually_. “If we could put a mixed team together though, don’t you think that would be the best team?”

“There’s too much of a rivalry between our teams to make up a good relay,” Sawamura says, and stops. “But it’s time we collected everyone up anyway. I need to make sure they all cool down properly before they jump on the bus.”

“Going home already, huh?” Tetsurou teases, “but first, they wouldn’t be rivals if they were on the same team. We’ll have to test it out sometime.”

“The season’s over Kuroo.” A weight settles in his chest, it is over. Over and done for another year, and next year will be different, a different competition, different people. Back to the bottom of the heap and working his way up again.

Sawamura launches himself over the fence and onto the track, and when he sees why Tetsurou is quick to follow.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Tetsurou laughs as two of Karasuno’s first years stop their wrestling in the puddle left over from the water jump. He doesn’t care that the first years from his own school are wet and watching on, because at least _they_ aren’t fighting.

Laughing would be impossible to restrain at the sight of Bokuto barrelling over the hurdle and crashing into Sawamura, landing them both in a mess of water.

“Out.” Sawamura declares water dripping over his face, Bokuto's body pinning him to the ground. “Now.”

Tetsurou swallows his laughter and mimes the same to the guys from his own school. “Time to cool down and then we’ll go find out what we’re doing for food before we head home.”

“This is cooling down!” Lev shouts, to the cheers of Sawamura’s troublemakers. 

“All you’re doing is getting dirty,” Tetsurou sighs, “did you not see everyone run through there? All the sweat and dirt and who knows what else from the bottom of their shoes," he points at Bokuto, "do you even know where he's been?"

Tetsurou hoped his words would help to get the first years out of the water, he didn’t expect for it to work quite as well as it does. Lev jumps out of the pit, closely followed by the other four first years dangling their bare feet into the water. Tetsurou should feel sorrier for them and the disgusted looks on their faces but they really should have known better. He especially thought Shibayama had at least his two first years under control.

“Run,” Sawamura says to his own unruly kouhai, peeling himself out from under Bokuto, “we’re meeting up for stretches on the back in twenty minutes, tell anyone else you see.”

Sawamura sighs, long and loud, as all five of them run off together. Tetsurou laughs at it. He understands the feeling, “you’re going to miss this one day, you know.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
